Closed Doors
by Miss Wonderfreak
Summary: Sometimes God closes a door and opens a window. Sometimes He just closes a door. oneshot, post CoS, EdWin semi-onesided


a.n.: Yay for winter break! Yay for me actually getting to write! Yay for.... emo EdWin? Don't read this if you want a happy story. If you want a fairytale ending, you should probably read some of the LJ Fire & Ice challenge fics, they're all really very good. This fic is showing what I think Winry would eventually do after CoS, so major spoilers.

Disclaimer: I am merely a devotee of the great cow goddess. I own nothing.

Closed Doors

It had only been a cold, that was what Edward had kept telling himself. Just a simple cold, no reason to be worried. Alphonse had simply had a cold, with normal cold symptoms-- runny nose, watery eyes, a loud cough-- nothing major, no point in taking him to the doctor, because nobody went to the doctor for a cold, and they didn't have enough money for the doctor anyways. He'd be fine after a week of rest, Edward had thought. And so, ordering the younger Elric into bed, he had given no more thought to the matter.

Except that after a week, Al's cough hadn't been better, it'd been worse. Still, Edward didn't worry, as colds sometimes took a while to recover from. After all, most people didn't spend the majority of their teenage years in a tin can. Al had always had a weak immune system, even as a kid, and it made sense for him to recover slower than most people. Ed had burned some chicken soup for him and shoved his doubts to the back of his mind. Alphonse was his rock, his center, and of course he would be fine.

But then one sunny afternoon everything had come crashing down. He'd returned from work to Al's room only to find his brother collapsed on the floor in a position horribly similar to their mother's so many years ago. Alphonse woke immediately and seemed disoriented, confused as to why he was on the floor. Edward had been about to brush it all off, tell him that he'd probably had a nightmare and had fallen off the bed, but then Al had started to cough. He had been coughing earlier, but this time he couldn't stop. Alphonse sounded like he was choking as he doubled up on the floor with his hands over his mouth. Then Edward had watched, terrified as red blood bubbled through his fingers.

And so now Edward stood in the hallway outside of Al's hospital room, listening intently to what the faceless doctor was telling him in hushed tones while gesturing dramatically with his clipboard.

"And so as these X-rays clearly show, Mr. Eric-" The man's slightly nasal voice was beginning to annoy Ed.

"Elric." He corrected him.

"And so as these X-rays clearly show, Mr. Elric, your brother has tuberculosis."

"T.B.? What's the course of treatment?"

"Mr. Elric, Alfred-"

"Alphonse."

"Alphonse is weak enough as it is. Even in the strongest of patients... frankly, tuberculosis is fatal. Your brother has at best a week."

Edward stared at the man in confusion. If this was a joke, it wasn't funny.

"What?"

"Keep him comfortable, happy."The doctor patted Edward on the shoulder unsympathetically, and Ed flinched away from his touch. "Would you like to talk to our grief counselor?"

"No, I don't want to talk to you damned counselor, I want you to treat Alphonse!" His volume increased as his voice turned shrill.

"Mr. Elric, Alphonse is-" The doctor nervously insisted, only to be interrupted by Edward.

"My brother, and you are going to fix him, no matter what it takes!"

"Sir, there is no treatment for tuberculosis-"

"_So find one_." The physician cowered.

"Mr. Eric, please calm down-" He stammered. Edward punched the doctor.

Later, after being forced to submit a written apology and hope the man wouldn't press charges, Edward sat beside Al's bed, simply watching him sleep. His breathing was labored and occasionally his face would twist up as though in pain. Edward longed to hold him, soothe him, but that had always been Winry's job, and Ed wouldn't have known how to even start. All he had ever been good at was his alchemy, and a fat lot of good that did him here. Hell, he couldn't even cook. Edward wondered idly whether he was in shock. His brother, the only person he had left in this world, was dying, and Edward was thinking about cooking.

It didn't take him long to drift off to sleep, lulled by Al's ragged but steady breathing. His sleep was not restful as dark shadows skittered in the corners of his mind and black hands scraped at his dreams. There was one dream in particular...

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_Edward was in a field where he and Al used to play as children. It looked to be around autumn as the golden grass brushed against his knees, whispering softly in the gentle wind. Faint laughter drifted to his ears, and he spotted himself, years younger, playing what appeared to be a one__**-**__man game of chess. The younger Ed scowled upwards at him characteristically, picking his nose with one dirty hand._

"_Where's Al?" He demanded, glaring at the taller Edward as though he'd hidden him in his pockets._

"_I don't know." Edward crouched down besides the boy. "But black is winning."_

"_Nobody's winning, stupid. I'm figuring out puzzles." The youngster rolled his eyes._

"_Somebody's always winning." Edward told him quietly, though the child missed the sadness in his eyes._

"_I hope Al comes soon." Ed grumbled, drumming his small heels on the dry ground._

"_Maybe Al isn't coming." _

"_Al always comes to play chess with me."_

"_Maybe this time, I'm supposed to play you." Edward mused aloud. The golden-haired youngster looked Edward up and down, sizing him up as an opponent._

"_Alright." He sighed reluctantly at last and began to set up the board. "You can be black."_

_They played in silence for a few minutes, each making their own strategic advances._

"_It's more fun to play with Al." Ed snapped._

"_Sometimes we've got to win alone, kid," Edward told him, taking his knight. Ed's lower lip jutted out further, until he grinned triumphantly as he captured Edward's queen._

"_Ha." He jeered, waving the piece in Edward's face. Edward simply smiled._

"_Checkmate." The smaller Ed viewed the board, then shrugged nonchalantly._

"_Maybe, but I've still got all this." He gestured around him as their surroundings disappeared._

"_Ah, they're gone...," Edward sighed wistfully._

"_Don't be an idiot." The kid looked at him in exasperation. "It's all right here."_

_He leaned forward to tap Edward above the heart._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Edward awoke with a start, his pulse racing. What had that been about? Probably nothing but a stress-induced dream, he thought. He glanced over at Alphonse, who was watching him.

"Hello, Brother." Al murmured. Edward braced himself.

"Al-" He began, preparing to tell him the news. Alphonse cut him off.

"I know. They told me. I'm dying." Edward looked at him. How could he say it so calmly?

"You're in shock--"

"--Maybe. Does it matter? I'll die whether I'm in denial about it or not." Ed winced at his cool tone.

"Al..." He said softly, reaching for his hand. Alphonse stiffened and pulled slightly away.

"I think... I think I'd like to be alone for a little while," He muttered, fiddling with the hem of his bed sheets.

"O-okay." Ed stammered, confused. He left quickly and found himself seated in the hospital stairwell, staring at a blank wall. He shivered, pulling his jacket closer around him. It was chilly in here. His brother was dying... He guessed he probably hadn't processed the news yet. It was around 6 o'clock, it was chilly in the stairwell, and his brother was dying. Edward wanted desperately to wake up, but he knew it wasn't a dream. Speaking of dreams, that odd one of him and his younger self drifted back into his mind. _It's all right here_, he'd said, touching his chest. Edward fingered the spot thoughtfully. Did he mean it was all in his memories? No, Edward felt he knew his younger self fairly well, and if Ed had meant that he would have tapped him on the head, not the heart. The heart meant something deeper, internal, emotional. Edward closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shoving all thoughts out of his mind.

The rent was already overdue for their apartment, and Edward didn't know how he would afford the hospital bills, and someone needed to feed the cat, and Al's workplace would have to be informed... Eventually, it all faded into meaningless babble. Edward tried to focus on the dream. In his heart, inside him... inside everything he'd ever been, ever would be, everything he'd ever known and would know, inside... the Gate? Edward tried to reason it out. The Gate created and destroyed everything, Truth was solely responsible for anything that ever had been or would be. Edward had come from the Gate, Al had come from the Gate, Winry and Pinako and Mustang and Hawkeye and every single person: they all were a part of the Gate. So... if parts equaled a whole, then it logically followed that a whole equaled its parts, so that each part was a bit of the whole. That not only was everyone part of the Gate, but the Gate was a part of everyone, and everyone possessed the Gate within them.

With this revelation came a flash of knowledge, though not knowledge Edward could put into words. This was a type of knowledge that was deeper, a sort of mutual understanding between him and the cosmos. All was one and one was all... He _finally_ understood what that meant. Truth, the Gate, everything was a part of him and he a part of it. With a shock he realized that he could almost feel it, an eternity flitting on the edges of his consciousness, like a half-formed idea. He mentally darted at it, reaching for it with his thoughts. It dodged and he tightened his jaw, going after it again and again, each time coming a little closer. He was almost there, he lunged at it one final time and was rewarded as he felt the concept give, felt understanding flood him and--

--found himself in front of the Gate.

"Whoa." Ed managed to mutter. Yep, same familiar surroundings, white space, floating black doors…

"You again?! I will never understand humans..." Edward spun around to face a very exasperated Truth.

"Yeah, but this time--"

"--Your brother is dying of tuberculosis, blah, blah, blah. And you want to know if I can cure him. What do I get in return?"

"So you can do it?"

"I'm Truth. I'm everything. Of course I can do it. What do I get?"

It had been a bit of a spur-of-the-moment action... what was he willing to give for Al's life? _Everything..._

"Another limb? Take your pick..." Ed offered.

"A limb for a life? Please. Remember, equivalent exchange: to gain something, something of equal value must be lost..."

"Memories, any memory you want..." Truth shook his head and sighed.

"You've got to lose what you gain. You want a life..." He knew what Truth wanted, he'd known it all along. He'd do anything for Al to be alright, it didn't matter what happened to Edward. He shut his eyes tightly, his mouth parched with fear as he began say the fatal words. Truth grinned widely.

"Take me."

The Gate swung open, and as the dark hands reached out, Edward stepped forward to meet them. His last thought was that the hands could be surprisingly gentle, like paper or dry leaves.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Beatrice Wendelson sneezed. It was just her luck, of course, that as an alchemist she had to be allergic to chalk, but there was no way around it. The giant array covering her floor had to be in chalk so she could make essential last-minute changes. Even though she herself had spent weeks constructing the transmutation circle, she still marveled at its complexity. This wasn't simply an array, this was _art_.

As she made the final adjustment, she took a step back to view her creation. She'd spent years researching this, she'd worked on the theory for months, and each line on the ground had been drawn with painstaking precision. She was staring at her life spread across the floorboards, and to her it looked a life well spent. As a child she had always been told to 'go outside and play', but the outdoors was boring. Inside there were books, and in those books there was knowledge, precious knowledge. She read and she read, storing up the priceless substance, drinking up information and facts greedily in her constant search to comprehend. All she had ever wanted to do was figure out the world, know it down to its innermost workings. Sure, with knowledge came power, a nice bonus, but it wasn't the power she wanted, no, it was the rush she got when something in her head clicked, the flash of enlightenment that she was just that much closer towards her goal. Beatrice lived to understand.

She had stumbled across alchemy in a science textbook where it was followed by a quote: Scholasticism with its subtle argumentation, theology with its ambiguous phraseology, astrology, so vast and so complex, is all children's games when compared with alchemy. She had known from that instant that alchemy had been the key, the singular science that held the answer to anything. All alchemy textbooks described a Gate of some sort, a portal in which all the knowledge of everything was stored. It had taken her years to figure out the theory, studying her precious books into the early hours of the morning. One night it had come to her in a dream, spoken on the lips of a golden-haired angel. So her array was born.

She had worked for months to perfect it, had gone for days without food or sleep to get it just so. Her sweat, blood, and tears were worked into this array... She glanced down once at her hands. They were small, soft, and pale, most of their job being to turn pages. Her hands had so little use in her life, yet they were about to make all her dreams come true. Beatrice closed her eyes and slammed her palms down on the array. Light shone through her eyelids, light that burned and healed at the same time.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a white sort of nothingness. In front of her floated a giant set of ornate black doors. _The Gate..._ She realized with a rush. She had done it, she was actually there!

"And what does this one want?" The words echoed in the back of her skull and she whipped around to face... well, she wasn't sure. It had a vaguely masculine outline made of light, but no physical body. His voice reverberated throughout her entire body as she cowered in awe.

"Um... what...?" She stuttered, transfixed by this mystical entity.

"Since you're here, I assume you want something..."

"Who are you?" She questioned, overcome by her constant curiosity.

"I am Everything and Nothing. I am One and Many, I am Dark and Light, I am Death and I am Life. You humans call me Truth. Now, what do you want? To retrieve a loved one?" Truth rumbled. Beatrice stared up at the Gate as it loomed forebodingly above her. This being she was speaking to, it had the power of everything, anything at all...

"How does this work?" She instead asked. Truth sighed impatiently.

"You tell me what you want, and I take a toll in exchange for it."

"Toll?"

"Equivalent exchange. The more you take, the more you must give.... Now, for the last time, what do you want?!"

"I want... I want to know." Her voice quavered, but Truth seemed to hear her underlying strength.

"To know what?"

"Everything..." She whispered, her eyes glazed over with longing.

"Of all the things you ask for, it has to be the one thing I cannot give?! For you to know everything, you would have to be a part of me! Lose yourself and become one with the eternal flow of power," Truth snapped at her. "Now ask me for something else."

But Beatrice had made up her mind long ago, and she was willing to pay any price.

"I want nothing else. Take me, give me knowledge." She insisted and Truth groaned in exasperation.

"I can't simply absorb you! I need equivalent exchange!"

"So put someone back in my place, I'd have paid their toll. You've got everyone and everything in there!" Though Truth had no face, she could feel his incredulity radiating from him.

"Look, it's my choice. And I'm telling you to take me and let someone else out." Beatrice said firmly, impressed by her own daring. Truth shrugged.

"You're right, it's your choice..." He trailed off. "But I cannot guarantee that you'll like what you learn..."

As the doors swung open and dark hands reached for her, Beatrice began to scream.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The first thing Edward was aware of was that the floor on which he was lying was cold. This revelation was shortly followed by the discovery that his entire body felt as though it had been run over by multiple herds of stampeding wild horses. Groaning, he dared to open his eyes a crack. It was dark out, and not the half-darkness of a city outside. No, this was a quiet black of a country night. He hesitantly sat up, trying to ignore the pain shooting through his muscles. Ed grabbed at a chair next to him and slowly pulled himself to his feet.

Peering around the dim room, he saw he was in a sparsely furnished bedroom, and that the floor was covered in what looked like pudding. The night air was scented with hay and he could hear crickets outside. He remembered Risembool with longing, Risembool and Winry with her long yellow hair that smelled like strawberries... The moon bathed him in pale silk as he stumbled to the door, fumbling at the doorknob. Outside was a long hall filled with books, at the end of which was a screen door through which he could feel a cool breeze.

As he walked towards the door, his hip bumped into the edge of a table and he bit back a swear as papers tumbled to the floor. He picked the papers hurriedly, then froze as an envelope caught his eye. It was an average electricity bill by the looks of it, but what stopped Edward was the address which he could barely make out in the faint moonlight.

_Beatrice M. Wendelson_

_43 Landon Road, Risembool_

_Amestris_

Before he knew what was happening Edward was sprinting the remainder of the hallway, practically falling down the porch steps and tearing down the long gravel driveway with the letter still clutched in his hand. He found himself on a country lane, oh God, a country lane he'd walked before as a child, it had been his route home from school. Yes, there in the distance he could see the old oak tree he and Al used to climb as kids, and he thought that against the black sky he could almost make out the silhouette of the remnants of his childhood home. This wasn't possible, he should still be in the Gate surrounded by nothing and darkness.

As Edward looked fondly at the old landmark, his gaze wandered across the field to the left, and his breath caught in his throat. There, with warm light shining from its windows and the sense of family in the air, there stood the old Rockbell residence. People were moving inside and he was positive he caught a glimpse of yellow hair.

He stumbled across the field in a daze, still unsure as to whether this was some sort of sick game the Gate was playing with him. The wheat brushing against his knees and the chill of the night argued otherwise, but this was simply impossible. The Gate always got its worth, and usually in the cruelest manner possible. Truth wouldn't simply grant him his heart's desire on a whim unless it was twisted somehow, manipulated in some way to cause Edward pain...

Despite all this, Winry's house stood in front of him, with its familiar sagging porch and chipped white paint. Laughter drifted out of an open window and Edward swallowed nervously. How would she react to seeing him after so long? How would he react to seeing her? She'd probably be angry at him for leaving her behind that final time, something Edward knew he'd never forgive himself for. As he tentatively climbed the old creaky stairs to the front door, he had butterflies in his stomach. Edward bit his lip almost painfully as he cautiously knocked.

He heard varying calls of "I'll get it" and a pit-pat of small feet running towards the door. It swung open, seemingly by itself until a small girl with brown hair and blue eyes stepped from behind it.

"Who're you?" She questioned cheerfully, cocking her head to the side. Edward opened his mouth and then shut it.

"Is Ms. Rockbell here?" He instead asked.

"Who?" The child stared at him in confusion, her mouth slightly open.

"Um, is Winry here?" Her jaw snapped closed in comprehension.

"_Mommy_, _there's someone at the door for you._" She screeched, and Edward felt his stomach drop. He'd only been gone two years, and this kid was about five! Had she adopted? Had she had some secret child hidden away he hadn't known about? And who the hell was the father, anyways?! All thought ceased as he heard a familiar voice.

"I'm coming darling, you don't need to yell." As she appeared in the doorway, Edward couldn't breathe. This was Winry, but not the Winry he had left behind. This Winry wore a knee-length sun dress with a flour-dusted apron over it. This Winry had laugh lines by her mouth and a ring on her finger. Her attention was still on the girl, and as she leaned down to shush her daughter Edward saw that her too-familiar yellow hair was now sprinkled with grey. He took a step backwards. Winry looked up at him and their eyes met. He heard her gasp and saw something akin to horror in her eyes as she instinctively slammed the door in shock. Edward looked down at the date on the letter he held crumpled in his hand.

_Beatrice M. Wendelson_

_43 Landon Road, Risembool_

_Amestris_

_September 16__th__, 1939_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Winry's hands shook as she poured him tea, he noticed. That wasn't surprising, and he felt that he would probably be shaking too if he wasn't feeling oddly numb. The situation was so miserable it was almost comical...

"So... who are you?" The man seated across from him inquired. A nice-looking man with curly brown hair and calm green eyes. An honest man, Edward guessed, a simple and kind one. A man who utterly did not deserve the gold wedding band he was nervously fiddling with.

"Edward Elric." Ed told him, watching Winry as she perched next to her husband on the couch.

"And you know Winry?" The man asks, and Edward didn't miss the glint of jealousy in his eyes.

"I used to." Ed noticed how Winry slumped at his use of the past tense, like the string holding her perfect poise aloft had finally broken.

"And why are you here?" Her husband snapped, and Winry laid a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Derek..." She said quietly, and Edward decided he'd always hated that name. Derek shrugged off her hand and stood up abruptly, storming out of the room. Ed felt a twinge of satisfaction.

"Oh God..." Winry groaned quietly, putting her head in her hands. "Edward, I'm sorry, he hasn't been sleeping well lately and..."

"It's okay." He muttered, even though nothing was okay in the slightest.

"Just... I.... What are you doing here? What the hell happened?!"

"Al was dying, I didn't know what else to do. I opened the Gate, and I traded myself for Al's health. I woke up in a house near here, except that... twenty years had gone by..." Edward stumbled over the figure, still unable to believe it. They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Do you have a place to stay?" Winry eventually asked, looking down at her hands. They weren't the hands he remembered. This Winry's hands were soft and pale. He missed the hands that had been calloused and filthy, with automail grease under the nails. He shrugged.

"You could stay here if you wanted until you find a place. We've got a spare bedroom..." Winry trailed off. "It's my old workroom, you know where that is, right?

Edward could tell when he was being dismissed. He nodded at her stiffly before hurrying into the other room. How many times had he been in this room, slept on a couch there instead of a bed? He wondered why Winry had stopped the automail business. She'd always seemed so passionate, and it felt wrong for her to quit. She'd changed in ways he couldn't begin to understand. She hadn't just matured-- there was a soft sort of sorrow in the creases by her eyes, and her mouth never quirked up on one side when he was talking, like when she thought what he said was amusing. Something was missing from her, and Ed had a feeling that whatever it was wasn't the type of thing that could ever be returned.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. Eventually he was reduced to simply staring up at the ceiling and recalling the hours he'd spent in the same position while Winry worked on his arm and leg. He was jerked out of his daze by angry voices in the living room.

"Well how well did you know him?" Edward heard Derek bellow. Winry replied something unintelligible.

"Why?! Because you can't just invite strangers to sleep in our guest room without asking me!" Derek snapped in response.

"He isn't a stranger!" Winry's voice rose in volume. "He's Ed!"

"He was Ed when you were seventeen!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Winry shrieked, and upstairs Edward heard the little girl begin to cry.

"It means people change, Win! I've changed since I was seventeen, and I'm sure you've changed too! You aren't the same girl he knew! It's been twenty-two years since you last saw him, and it's been two years since he last saw you, and a helluva lot can happen to change a person in just a _day_. How do you know we can trust him? Our daughter lives in this house! What if--"

Derek's speech was cut short by the sound of a slap, then all Ed could hear for a moment was silence.

"Don't you _ever_ pretend to know anything about Edward Elric," Winry seethed, and Ed winced. That wasn't just her I'm-pissed voice, that was her I'm-pissed-and-hurt-and-disappointed voice. "Edward is a wonderful man, and if you lived to be a hundred you still wouldn't live through half of what's happened to him. Don't you _dare_ say one more word until you know exactly what you're talking about."

Derek growled something Edward couldn't hear, and his footsteps echoed above Ed as he stomped up the stairs. Ed heard the creak of a chair in the living room as Winry sat down, and then a familiar whimpering sound. He stole quietly into the room.

"You know, Winry, your crying hasn't changed at all." He told her gently as he wrapped an arm around her. She looked up at him and he could've started crying himself. There was the Winry he knew, with her blotchy face, red nose, and trusting eyes.

"Everything else has." She told him somberly, blowing her nose on her apron. He squeezed her shoulder. She leaned in to his arm, still sniffling.

"I know," He said quietly, and Winry seemed to take that as some form of acceptance.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Three days had passed since Edward had arrived, and Winry still wasn't speaking to Derek. It seemed to Ed that she was waiting for Derek to apologize while he was waiting for her to. Edward mostly sat in his room looking out the window. Winry had once vaguely mentioned his looking for a job, but he'd silenced her with a look. All he knew was alchemy, and he'd had enough of that for a lifetime.

This particular night was overhung with the flavor of electricity in the air, a metallic and dangerous taste that bit at the senses. A thunderstorm was coming; Edward didn't need to be a weatherman to tell that. He'd been watching the sky all day and the clouds were agitated, anxious. Winry and her family had eaten an early dinner, and he could hear Winry washing the dishes angrily in the kitchen. Derek was upstairs putting their daughter, whom Edward had learned was named Rumi, to bed. Outside it began to drizzle.

Edward wandered into the kitchen, standing in the doorway and watching Winry clean. Her movements were perhaps a bit slower, and perhaps her back bore more weight, but she was undeniably Winry. Whose Winry, he wasn't sure. Sometimes she would stand completely still, her eyes closed as if lost in a memory, and then she wasn't his. But sometimes she would laugh, or she would tuck her hair behind her ear, or she would smile wistfully, and Edward would feel the familiar swell of emotion he'd come to associate with her. She wasn't his Winry, and she never would be again, but she was a Winry, and that was enough for him.

"Winry?" Ed asked quietly, and she jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Oh, Edward, I didn't see you..." She gave him a false smile. Something was at the edges of her mouth, tight like a spring, ready to snap.

"Will you..." He hesitated. "Will you take a walk with me?"

"Edward, the dishes..." She trailed off, waving a soapy hand. Her wedding ring glinted in light, and he grimaced.

"To hell with the dishes," He told her, roughly grabbing her arm. "Take a walk with me."

She looked down at his fingers shackling her wrist, their knuckles white with tension, then she looked back up at him.

"Derek," She called slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "Derek, I'm going out."

Edward grinned cruelly and tugged her out the front door, and the crash as it slammed behind them muffled Derek's response. Ed dragged her down the driveway, laughing as she stumbled to keep up with him. He stopped in the dirt lane and Winry looked at him breathlessly. He jerked a thumb up the road.

"Now we walk." He told her, and she obeyed. The air around them was tense with the coming storm, and their footsteps seemed unnaturally loud.

"How's Mustang?" He asked after a few minutes, trying to break the silence. She looked at him sideways and shrugged.

"Dead," She replied nonchalantly. "Died in an Southern uprising a few years ago."

"Hawkeye?"

"Followed him."

Edward nodded, not breaking his pace. He'd like to feel some form of regret or grief, but his emotions had been fucked with so much for the past week that he found he didn't even care. They turned around a curve and Edward remembered that this road went in a loop back to the Rockbell residence.

"There ought to be a good harvest this year." He commented.

"Yeah."

"Will you run away with me?" Ed asked, tilting his head slightly.

"What?" She pretended not to have heard, though he knew she had.

"Run off with me." This time it wasn't a question, it was an order, though a feeble one.

"Don't be ridiculous." Winry said lightly, looking over at the fields.

"I'm not joking!" Edward glared at her, stopping.

"I never said you were."

"Listen to me, Winry--"

"You are twenty-three. I am forty-two." She told him severely, but her voice cracked on the last syllable.

"You think I care how old you are?" He snapped, grabbing her chin and trying to force her to meet his eyes.

"Look at me," He growled as she stared at her sandals. "Look at me, damn it!"

She wouldn't look at him, but she did not attempt to pull away either. Instead, she brought her hand up to her cheek to cover his, leaning ever so slightly into his touch. He felt a tear run over his fingertips.

"Edward, Rumi-"

"Can come!"

"You want me to drag my daughter along as I have a midlife crisis and run off with a man half my age?" She spat bitterly.

"Winry, I love you, alright? I _love_ you. Don't you love-"

"Damn it, Edward Elric, I love you more than I've loved anyone in my entire life! I've loved you for so long that I don't know what it means anymore!" Winry yelled shrilly. She finally stared him straight in the face and her tears dripped down his hand, and Edward was shocked at the depth of the pain he saw in her sapphire eyes.

"Please, Winry..." He whispered brokenly, but she wasn't finished.

"I loved you when you burnt your house down and left without a second glance, I loved you each time you came in for repairs, and I loved you each time you left without saying goodbye. I loved you when ran off to another world, and I loved you when you came back to tear my heart out. I loved you when you forgot me here one last time, and I've loved you for twenty years after that!" She was shaking with the force of her sobs.

"Winry, I--"

"I loved you enough to give up automail, because I couldn't stand to be reminded of you. I loved you enough to marry a kind man, because I thought you would want me to move on with my life. I loved you enough to have a child I didn't want! And most of all, Ed, most of all I love you enough to say no, I won't leave with you. I have what you would have wanted, Edward. I have what a forty-two year-old you would want me to have."

They were back at her driveway now and she stumbled forward blindly to the stairs.

"I'm so sorry, Winry, but I--"

"I loved you enough to let you steal all my dreams, and I loved you enough to let you back into my broken life!"

"You are everything to me!" He shouted at her, at a loss as to what he could say or do to show her the extent of his feelings. "I love you! I don't care how many times I have to say it, or how loud I have to say it! I love you, I love you, _I love you_!"

She paused on the porch with the door open in her hand.

"Edward, it's not enough. Every love has one chance to shine, one shot at working, one single moment where it could lead to forever. We missed ours, Ed, and I'll always love you, and you'll always love me. That's just the way it is."

"All I've ever wanted to do is make you happy. I'm begging you, Winry, just tell me how I can do that. How can I make you happy, Winry?" Edward pleaded a final time. She was right that they had missed their chance, but couldn't they try anyways? Winry looked at him sorrowfully. Lightning flashed overhead, followed by the rumble of thunder as the storm started. He looked at her in utter despair as it began to drizzle. She gave him a sad smile and the lamp in her hallway outlined her in golden light.

"Please, Ed," She said quietly, with something in her voice irreparably broken. "Just leave."

"Winry--" She looked away from him as Rumi cried in the next room. Winry was already gone, she'd left the moment he'd first stepped into Shamballa. And Ed knew that nothing would ever, ever, _ever_ be alright again. "Winry, I--"

"Goodbye, Edward Elric." She whispered.

She shut the door softly in his face, leaving him standing outside as it began to pour.


End file.
